Fire Bird
by lordvio
Summary: Coming home from work, Kanda discovers a blind boy on his door step. His first reaction? Take responsibility.Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"That'll be seventy five-sixty, ma'am."

The woman blinked and stared at her hand. "Sixty," she repeated and glanced at the small red purse in her hand.

"Can I pay by credit card?"

Kanda tiredly stared at her. It was late. It was ridiculously late and she was asking to pay by credit card when clearly there was a clear and short "WE DO NOT ACCEPT CREDIT CARDS" sign right in front of her. Was she stupid or just pretended to be?

"No ma'am."

"What?" She blinked again, fluttering her long and obviously fake eyelashes. Kanda fisted his hand under the counter.

"You can't use credit cards here, ma'am. We only accept cash and debit," Kanda deadpanned. The woman reddened. _Good, she had some conscience_.

"But that's ridiculous! Every store accepts credit cards! Every effin' store!"

_No conscience whatsoever. That stupid old cow._

Kanda grated his teeth. He could barely hold himself from screaming. It was just fifteen minutes before closing and this old bat was exasperating.

"Ma'am, we _do not_ accept credit cards," he hissed, glaring at her. "Is that _so hard_ to understand?"

The woman smiled venomously. "Listen here, pretty boy, I always pay by credit card. Always!"

"Good night, ma'am." Kanda tiredly placed a "Closed" sign and went to another line composed of two rabid customers. The woman started cursing loudly and threw her package down. She slammed the door and the bell rang shrilly, killing three more nerve threads in Kanda's ears.

Dealing with customers was Lavi's job.

_Screw Lavi_. That bastard took off with his girl, Lenasomething, to a cheap hotel while her brother wasn't in town, thus leaving Kanda with everything: cleaning the bird cages, keeping the store clean, feeding the animals. And that was ok. That was his job, anyway. _But not this._Not working with the customers.

"Hello, how are you…" he mumbled robotically, putting a hamster wheel and hamster food into a paper bag.

He hated paper bags. They were cheap and showy.

As a response to his dead greeting, the customer mumbled something obscure and Kanda just huh-ed back. His hellos were a formality, an annoying one on top of that. He never cared about the loud people in front of him; he just was pretending they weren't there. He wouldn't have cared even if some idiot decided to hang himself in front of him.

People were exchangeable, just like paper bags.

What's more, he hated unreasonable costumers. The ones who weren't paying attention to buy and pay details. He had already been fired four times for kicking those kinds of people. And he surely couldn't afford to be fired again.

_Or he'd be in a deep, deep trouble_.

"Can I pay by credit card?"

Kanda slowly lifted his eyes and stared at the customer with quiet hatred.

_There's the trouble._

"Are you messing with me?" he asked quietly, feeling his fingers twitching with rage. "Are you fucking messing with me?"

The customer, a small boy with huge dark sunglasses that hid his face till the tip of his nose, smiled candidly.

"No such thing, sir. I am just asking if I can use my credit card," he pronounced with the brightest British accent possible.

Kanda bit his lip. He bit it hard, feeling the flesh turning sour.

"You _are_ messing with me, you shithead," he whispered and plunged ahead, grabbing the boy by the collar, pulling him over the counter. The two other people behind him started screaming for the security or something, throwing the bags and baskets on the floor.

Kanda paid no heed.

"Are you screwing with me, little shit? Don't you see the "NO fucking CREDIT CARD" sign? Are you freaking blind or you just want to die?"

The boy didn't even react. Well, actually he did, but in a very unorthodox way. He smiled. _That little shit was smiling when death was in his face._

"I'm sorry for misunderstanding, sir. I _am_ blind."

The whole store (three people and a clerk) shut up immediately as if someone turned off the volume. Kanda mutely stared into that little face. He felt prickly glanced that plunged into him like cacti. The boy still smiled; too serene and innocent considering the circumstances.

_Oh shit_.

Kanda softly let go and silently pulled the boy's basket onto the counter, checking the hamster items out. His very brain was burning with shame, and the only hint to that were the reddened tips of his ears.

"You could at least apologize, jerk," a tall woman huffed, smothering Kanda with a hateful look. She smirked, seeing his jaws tighten and knuckles whiten. "You should go to anger management classes or someth—"

"It's ok, really. I get that a lot," the boy stopped her softly, showering her with a generous smile. He seemed to enjoy the whole situation. He reached his pocket and Kanda blinked, seeing how fast and sure his fingers opened the little black wallet. He had a whole bunch of cards on the left side, and banknotes on the other, arranged in descending order.

"Will that do?" he asked, putting a green card on the counter. Kanda picked it up. A debit card. It had cats on it. _Why the hell did he need cats if he couldn't s—_

"Yes. Nine forty-six," Kanda murmured, placing the packet on the counter. The boy put carefully his palm on it, touching it slightly. Immediately as he felt the brown paper under his hands he grabbed it, putting the hamster food vertically, bottoms down. He seemed to have previous experience with such things before.

Kanda ripped the receipt and hesitated. He had no idea whether to put it on the counter or hold it in the air, hoping that the boy will somehow…get it.

"Oh, I don't need the receipt!" The boy smiled –guessing his thoughts— and paced to the automatic doors. "Good night!"

He took a thick tube out of his pocket and started twisting it. In less than two second he was holding a white cane with a red tip in his hands. He held it in front of him and slightly touched the floor, pacing calculatedly, like a cat. The doors closed and the bell rang again, sending another soul out.

"Poor child! Blind at his age? Where the hell's God?"

"Who knows? I heard that blind folks are quite talented at many things, so who knows—"

Kanda silently tightened his jaw. That was another 'why' he hated working with the customers. They were brainless creatures who exchanged unneeded information, just to keep the friendly façade with complete strangers. And that- knowing they won't ever meet again. How useless.

The door closed and Kanda stared at the person in front of him. The last customer.

"We don't accept credit cards, so scram," he turned away and took off his cap. He could go home now. It was ten sharp.

"Nah, I just wanted to exchange two twenties…"

"Do I look like a bank to you?" Kanda murderously hissed and threw four fives on the waiting palm.

88888

The air was cold, too cold to walk with a bare head. March was not in full power now, so the city didn't even realize that spring was here as of last week. Kanda lifted the furred hood of his jacket and cursed. His apartment was a few blocks away, so he played a strangely morbid military march in his head, hoping to fool himself into walking faster.

He liked his apartment. It was a small thing with wooden floors and big windows. And it wasn't too expensive— Kanda's paycheck from the pet store somehow covered it all. Even so, working fulltime and studying fulltime wasn't as easy as it sounded.

Crossing the empty street Kanda shuddered and blinked, feeling the snowflakes melt on his nose. He wiped his cheek, pulling the hood even lower. He was sure spring was here_. Then why the snow?_

Kanda stopped and lit a cigarette. He hated the smoke; he hated the bitter taste in his mouth, but for some unknown reason continued to do it. A red car zoomed past him and the man cursed, spitting sideways. The rings of gray rose up and froze in the crispy air.

"Sir, could you help me cross the street?"

Kanda felt the tips of his ear burn. The blind kid from before was behind him, with the cane extended, looking into nothing. The man's lips thinned, almost disappearing. He curtly nodded and a second later regretted it. That kid couldn't see his nods.

"Which one," he half asked, half stated, even though there was only one street.

"I think there's only one," the kid replied with a hint of laughter in his voice. And that made Kanda want to shut up and die, or at least strangle someone before he divorced his own body.

A light touch on his sleeve and Kanda snapped out of his daze. He silently grabbed the kid's hand and led him across the street, glaring at the car that stopped carelessly a foot away. The boy's hand was thin and small and Kanda gulped, shifting his fingers. Just a bit more and that little arm would break off, like a sugar wing.

"Thank you, sir."

Kanda dropped that hand immediately, as if it burned his fingers. The kid smiled and whipped his cane around, walking away lightly.

"We have delivery services," Kanda suddenly blurted out. He stood in the middle of the street, ignoring some car's honking. The kid stopped and turned around, facing Kanda with a strange expression.

"Really? How unusual. Do you want me to spread the word?"

"Huh?" was the only thing Kanda could muster, gawking at the kid who mocked his good intentions. Three second later, when the kid was gone, Kanda made a big, fat vow to never (try to) be considerate towards another human being.

_It's not like it will ever pay off,_Kanda mused entering his shortcut between two buildings with no windows. He lifted his foot exactly in the place where the broken bottle lay, and ducked three paces later, avoiding the hanging cable.

They were always here. They were familiar to him, even more than his obsessive manner to put his socks into the third drawer- not the second one.

Kanda knew his way around. He knew what tomorrow would bring. He was sure of his future and his wants. His future was a straight black line, and he followed it without questioning. There was nothing to question.

"The hell?"

He gawked at the person sleeping on his welcome mat. The same big glasses, hamster food, and a fluffy white head were snoring at his feet.

And Kanda questioned himself for the first time in his life.


	2. Firebird 2

**I haven't been on this site for so long I forgot how to upload stuff. So yeah, I had to learn again.**

**Chapter 2**

Kanda squinted and slipped his hand into the back pocket, where his keys warmed the butt. He cocked his head, looking at the sleeping person on his WELCOME mat.

"Yo, kid," he called, poking the bundle of clothes with the tip of his boot. The pile moved, letting the hamster wheel out of his fingers. A soft sigh, another turn, and the kid was asleep again.

Kanda's fingers twitched. He already was flinching at the smell of fried fish chips in the air, probably leaking out under the neighbor's door. He was feeling the scraping in his scalp, an unpleasant side effect of cleaning the dog and cat cages three times a day.

And the worst of all, he was exactly two doors and seven steps away from the shower, and yet, this bundle of unnecessary items on his mat was keeping him in the smelly hallway.

"Yo, kid. Get up."

He poked him repeatedly with the tip of his boot until the person on the floor cringed, understanding that the taste of leather shoes is not a sleep induced hallucination, but real black shoe polish on his lips.

The former sleeper sat upright on the mat and extended his hands, frantically trying to feel his place, time, and motive in the hallway that presently reeked of fried potatoes, fish, and garlic.

He blinked, feeling that the glasses slipped off his nose. That very second, in the forty watt lighted hall, Kanda saw a pair of big, thickly eyelashed light gray eyes. The man held his breath for a second, not able to take his own eyes off the blind ones.

They were clear, too clear, as if any variation of shade or light on the cornea and iris were absent. The pupil was dilated, covering the cloudless gray shamelessly, as if trying to accuse its host of drug usage.

"Ummm…"

Kanda jerked his gaze away, suddenly realizing that the kid was holding the margin of his jeans.

"Can you help me up?" the boy said, smiling and putting the glasses back on his face. He reached up— a small hand with clean nails, Kanda noticed. He bent, grabbing the hand and pulling it up, only to feel the faint redolence of mint.

"Thank you. You're the clerk that tried to strangle me, right?"

Kanda stiffened, still holding the small hand in his own. He haven't talked yet, still the kid knew who he was. Did he recognize him by touch or something?

"What are you doing in front of my door?" he said instead, frowning.

"You smell of cheap tobacco and bergamot tea," the kid grinned. "It's a pretty strange combination."

"Huh?"

The boy waved his hand.

"You were wondering how I knew it was you."

Kanda swallowed a knot.

"I was wondering what the fuck you are doing in front of my apartment." He didn't like it one bit. The kid seemed to be strangely functional despite his disability, and the thought that he, Kanda, had pitied him twenty minutes before made him furious with himself. After all, he never pitied people. His emotions toward beings of the human variety were limited to muffled irritation and passive indifference.

"I would appreciate if you would not use crude language," the boy said, pursing his lips. "It's tasteless. Besides—"

"What the _fuck _are you doing here?"

The boy sighed. He bent and drew his hand in circular motions, trying to find his cane.

"I came with an offer," he said, finally gripping the desired object. He lifted his face toward Kanda's voice and smiled with readiness, like a TV host. Kanda flinched.

"Not interested," he growled and pushed past the kid, opening the door. He could finally get into the shower and wash away the ammoniac smell that the two-week-old Bengal kittens planted lovably on his shirt.

"You didn't even hear me out," the voice of the boy suddenly invaded Kanda's shower filled mentality. He spun around and stared into the huge glasses that were in his personal bubble.

"Get out," Kanda hissed, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the door. The boy yelped, his feet staggering into the impeccably clean carpet. Kanda tcheed. The brat was not only invading his privacy, he was shamelessly claiming it by sprawling like a dead starfish on his carpet.

"Get the hell ou—"

"Three thousand plus rent!" The boy yelled, lifting his hand, three fingers readily poking up. Kanda frowned.

"What?"

"I'll pay three thousand per month, plus rent, if you let me live with you."

Kanda's frown reached new depths. He stared incredulously at the scrawny figure at his feet. Then a sudden thought, almost an epiphany illuminated his mind.

"I get it," he grinned. "You're fucking with me."

"No, I'm no-Ow! Owowow!" the boy was writhing as Kanda slowly lifted him by the ear, dragging him toward the door. The boy stumbled behind him on his four, wallowing in pain and landing on his chin when Kanda stopped to take his shoes out of the way.

"Please! Let me explain! I'm not a crook! I just need to explain!"

Kanda stopped and glanced at the boy with newfound suspicions.

"I heard that before… Do you watch Discovery or something?"

The boy huffed, trying to stand up and keep Kanda at arm-length away. When he finally finished picking himself up he gazed to the direction where the college student sounded to be.

"Just…just hear me out. Please."

Kanda leaned on the door and crossed his arms. Whatever the brat was trying to say… would make no difference. He would go out the window, door and other orifices anyway.

"I need a place to stay," the boy started timidly. "I need someone to help me with the daily problems, and be non-intrusive at the same time."

"Hire a nurse," Kanda huffed. The kid negated the thought.

"I did. It was hell. She started to do everything, not even letting me cross the street by myself."

Kanda lifted a brow.

"If you haven't noticed, you're blind, idiot. Of course she would—"

"I don't need that." The boy shook his head almost with anger. "I just need someone to do what I _can't _do, like cook and read the bills. That's all I need."

"And?" Kanda said lazily, seeing that the kid stopped speaking. The addressee's lips twitched.

"I was in the pet store." He reddened. "The cages were really clean."

Kanda's lips twitched.

"Don't tell me you have some S&M inclina—"

"No! It's not that!" The boy frantically shook his hands. "It's just… you hate animals, don't you?" he asked, cocking his head on one side. Kanda uncrossed his arms.

"Why do you know that?"

"You cursed the entire time while changing the paper in the bird room, and—"

"Your point being?" Kanda suddenly felt uneasiness nest in his chest. It irritated him that this kid, being blind, knew him more than he expected a healthy person to do. It made no sense.

"I just need someone to take care of my needs without getting too deep. Just taking care. That's it." He exhaled, and bent his head as if looking at his feet.

"I'm willing to pay any price. I can afford it, so…" He stared at Kanda again with his blind eyes and smiled, a bit lost. Kanda sighed. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sensing the hair tie pressing on his skull.

"How old are you?" Kanda asked tiredly.

"Twenty-one," the kid stuttered, lowering his eyes. The man immediately grabbed his ear.

"Liar. You're underage, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not! Let me go-ow!" He tiptoed, trying to rise higher than Kanda's arm that pulled the ear. The man smirked.

"Let's try this again. How old are you?"

"Ok, Ok, I'm nineteen; now let go!"

Kanda's smirk began to morph into an inhumanly cruel grin.

"And if you think better?" The arm rose higher, until the boy literally began shedding tears.

"Fifteen, you arse! Fifteen; just let me go!"

Kanda let go of the ear and hmmed. The boy sniffed, cradling the lobster red ear, his mouth twitching with contempt.

"You…you arse. I came to you with a great offer and you pull my ears out? You have no humanity!"

Kanda rolled his eyes and proceeded to the kitchen. He needed a good cup of tea, with a piece of lemon, as he always drank. The noise of the opening door halted him movements.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The boy bared his teeth. He gripped the hamster baggage closer to his chest.

"I'm leaving. I don't need someone as vile as you looking after me," he hissed and pulled the doorknob. To his surprise, the door not only did not open, it even clicked as if someone –the boy could guess who-rotated the key and took it out. The boy turned toward the man, alerted.

"What are you doing?"

Kanda shrugged and jiggled the keys.

"The only place I'll let you go is the police. Having a shady fifteen-year-old brat stalking people in the neighborhood is troublesome."

"You have no right to do this!"

Kanda rolled his eyes again, this time with apathy. He threw the keys into a bowl, and, noticing the startled turn of the boy's head to the shrilly sound, put the bowl away.

"Spend the night here. Tomorrow I'll send you to your mommy."

"Eh?" The boy's face turned from alerted to sheet white. Kanda locked his eyes on his face, trying to understand his bizarre reaction.

"I'll send you home tomorrow. That's all," he explained, frowning.

The boy gulped. The paleness faded, leaving a strange, restrained expression on his face.

"Umm, can you… not _do that_?" he asked, trying to use a matter-of-fact tone. Kanda crossed his arms.

"I can't. You're trouble. I get rid of trouble."

The boy hung his head, nervously tapping his foot. Kanda suddenly noticed his shoes. Yes, they were dirty; yes, they were leaving prints on his pristine floors, but Kanda couldn't not notice that the shoes were not crap. They were elegant shoes, the ones males wouldn't wear unless they were terrorized into it, or if they knew no better.

"W-well," the kid broke the silence tentatively. "If I pay you, will you let me go?"

Kanda's face darkened. He began to understand the person in front of him, and more exactly, his background.

"You ran away from your mommy, punk?"

The boy gulped loudly. He laughed fake, then stopped.

"No?"

"And let me guess," Kanda continued, "She's some lawyer, or doctor, or some big wi—"

"It's not like that!" the boy yelled abruptly. He bit his lip afterward, shifting his eyes. "Just please, don't send me home. I can take care of myself. I won't bother you, so please—"

Kanda interrupted him with a heavy sigh. He noticed (with a bleeding heart) the dirt stains on his clean carpet, and the furtive movement of the stubborn lips of the person in front of him. That made him think of cleaning solutions and a lost half hour spent on knees, trying to get the dirt out.

"Tell you what. I'll let you stay here—" he saw the jolt of hope on the boy's face and his mouth became a thin, sharp line, "for the night. Then I'll decide what to do."  
The boy nodded as response and hung his head again, unsure of what to do. Kanda clicked his tongue.

"Take off your shoes. And the coat, too. Got a name?"

The boy stopped fumbling with his shoelaces and nodded.

"It's All—"

"No need. I won't remember it anyway." Kanda threw him a sharp glance. "Bean-sprout it is."

"Eh?" The boy lifted his face eagerly. Kanda smirked, there was no way the kid was fifteen. Or maybe it was possible, but again, the puniest and the most pathetic fifteen year old representative…that he could be.

"Your name. Get used to it. Bean-sprout."

The boy flushed with embarrassment.

"Wait, I'm not bea—"

"I don't care."

"But—"

"I care even less."

The boy humped, defeated. Only when Kanda let him into the living room he spoke.

"What's your name?"

The man threw him a tired and annoyed look. He sat on the small white sofa and closed his eyes, lolling his head back.

"Does it matter?"

The boy touched his way to the same sofa and sat, too upright and stiff.

"Well, I need to call you s_omething_. Unless you don't mind a nickname, or—"

"Kanda," the man interrupted, "call me Kanda."

The boy grinned. Kanda opened an eye.

"What a strange name. Are your parents foreigners? Because you don't have a foreign accent, so—"

"Does it matter?"

The boy ceased smiling. His shoulders dropped and he stared –or at least seemed to— at his own feet.

"It really doesn't. Sorry," he added, giving off a guilty smile. Kanda sighed. He needed to go take a shower, or at least a soak before the sunrise to get the damned smell off of him. And yet, a small yet persistent problem presented itself right away.

"May I sleep on the sofa?" The boy patted the seat and turned his head toward the man. Kanda frowned.

"Choose between my bed and the doormat. And no, you cannot choose the bed. It's mine, duh."

The boy made a sour face.

"You really are a dick, you know that?"

Kanda sighed, irritated.

"I don't have another blanket. I don't usually let people into my house, so I never needed more than one."

The boy smirked, not knowing whether to be amused or troubled by the circumstances.

"What are you, a hermit-crab?

The man hmp-ed impassively. He opened the closet door and took out a decorative pillow, which he threw at the boy, knocking off his glasses.

"Your pillow. Sleep on the couch and don't you dare close the window. If you die of exposure, I'll say sorry."

"Hey— wait, I was kidding! I didn't—Kanda!" The boy paced to the door, his hand accurately tracing the shape of the sofa and the table as a guide. He then stopped in front of Kanda, unsure whether he can touch the man and confirm that he is there, or just move through the doorway into the bedroom.

"Kanda?" he mumbled, shyly extending his arm and feeling the air. The man watched silently, somewhat amused. The boy let his arms drop and cocked his head, trying to hear something indicative of a furious host.

"Aw, come on, Kanda! I bet you're doing it on purpose! That's just unethical!" he waved his hands, annoyed by his failure. The man grinned, exactly six inches away from him. He could see all of this kid's expressions without hindrance or explaining, and that was interesting.

Not that he was interested in him, in any meaning or way.

The boy suddenly lifted his head, as if sniffing the air. Kanda stared curiously, involuntarily asking himself if his disability made his senses extra developed.

"Kanda, you're here, aren't you?" The boy confidently extended his arm and grabbed the man by the sleeve. "You smell awfully, like a dead kitten with a ripped bladder."

Kanda sighed, giving up his poor taste hide-and-seek game.

"You said I smell of cigarettes and bergamot. How did that combination become a dead kitten with fucked up guts?"

"Well, if I said that from the very beginning, you wouldn't let me in, would you?" The boy smiled, gripping his sleeve even tighter. Kanda smacked him over the back of his head. Instead of ceasing to cling to the taller man, the boy tipped his head as if for a kiss and grinned.

"Now that we established that you are a jerk, a dick –a very arrogant one, too— and prejudiced slash insensitive against blind people, can you make me some tea? I haven't eaten since noon."

Kanda opened his mouth to protest the _false_ accusations but something stopped him. That something was now crawling out of the boy's pocket, rapidly ascending to take place on the top of his head.

"Oh, Campy," the boy smothered a ticklish yelp when the fluffy tail of the ferret touched his ear, "don't worry. This rude person over here will let us stay the night. Right, Kanda?"

Kanda growled as a response, opening a box of rice crackers. He stared longingly at the shower door, then at the loud kid, who was presently trying to turn the TV on by stepping on the remote.

"I thought blind people couldn't see," he sneered, taking the remote under the foot of his guest.

"And I guess being a dick can only be treated with death," the boy sat upright on the sofa and began stroking the long, quivering tail of his pet. He grinned when Kanda tch-ed and left the living room. At least he won the battle. Now he had to take care of the war.

"So," the boy smiled like a lawyer and put his teacup down. "Are you a student? Or are you some kind of…I don't know—"

"Student," Kanda growled, biting his sandwich. He frowned when the ferret left the boy's lap and climbed his own, pricking his knee with its sharp claws. "You mind getting the damn rat off me?"

"I do, actually," the boy said, wiping his lips with a paper napkin. He stared at the working TV and frowned. "Is the lady smiling?"

"What lady?"

"The announcer, is she smiling?"  
Kanda stared at the TV. The woman was blond, definitely dyed. She wasn't smiling; heck, what normal person would smile while talking about arsonists?

"No."

"Damn," the boy frowned. He leaned back and opened his eyes, facing the ceiling.

"Why are you wearing the glasses? It's not like your eyes are damaged, you know," Kanda asked quietly, unconsciously wondering why he was stroking the ferret's back. The kid smiled.

"Because I want to," he then pointed at the TV. "Is she smiling now?"

Kanda irritably glanced at the TV to confirm that the woman wasn't smiling. Who cared if she smiled? What did that have to do with every—

She was smiling. Kanda stared at the kid, unable to believe his eyes.

"Well? Is she?"

"She's grinning like hell. How did you—"

The boy laughed loudly, proud with himself. He leaned toward Kanda, fingers spread. The man sat still. When the kid's fingers touched his knee, Kanda reconsidered his position.

"What the hell are you do—"

"My ferret, Kanda. I don't sexually harass old people, not even if they are stupid enough to let me into their homes— so quit dreaming."

"Who would…you—" Kanda almost swallowed his tongue in indignation. Him, old? He was only twenty! And four months! He hasn't even started his life yet, and the little maggot called him old!

"Anyway," the boy stuffed the animal in his pocket without concerns for its safety, "It's late. Where do I sleep? And don't say the sofa, I think Campy peed on it."

Kanda jumped off the aforementioned furniture, and stared at the small –and quite smelly— mark of the ferret territory. That added exactly fifty-three dollars for the cleaners, plus the movers to his household bill. He silently glared at the boy who was babying with his pet and wished for him to have sight. So Kanda could take it away.

Understanding that the murderous thoughts will get him nowhere, the man sat down to analyze the situation. After three minutes of profound musing, the man got up.

"Fuck it all. We're going to the police."

The boy spun around, dropping the ferret in the process.

"Eh? Why?"

Kanda almost hissed.

"If you haven't noticed, it's fucking late. I want to sleep, not babysit a brat. You're in the way, your fucking rat is in the way—"

The boy stopped him with a slight gesture.

"Kanda, I don't mind if you leave me and go take a shower. I am capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I can find the pillows, and spare pajamas, and even the toothpaste." He stopped to take a breath and take Campy out of his pocket. "As for this guy, I already bought his stuff, so you don't need to worry. Right, TimCampy?"

TimCampy promptly agreed by letting a strand of hot urine on the coffee table. Kanda groaned loudly and threw a roll of paper towels at his guest. He grabbed another towel, this one fluffy and white, and stared over the shoulder at the boy and his troublesome pet.

"I'll be in the shower. Just put yourself anywhere and sleep." He opened the bathroom door and inhaled the coolness of the dark room. "Ah, before I go," he added as an afterthought, "cut off the rat's joy-stick. I don't want to drown in its piss. The nail clippers are in the left drawer."

888888888

When Kanda came out of the shower smelling suspiciously sweetly (reminiscent of Herbal Essences), the lights in the apartment were turned off. He even hit his smallest toe by ramming it into the sofa leg. Hn, that kid did know how to get by without any help. Kanda stared at a bundle of clothing on the sofa. He hmmed. Apparently, the brat didn't mind sleeping on a wet cushion.

"G'night," the man murmured, finding it hard to leave the room for his bedroom without an exit phrase. He entered his bedroom, his beloved sanctuary, and throwing away the towel that held his hair turban style, sneaked under the covers.

He stared into the empty ceiling, dreaming with his eyes open. He then stiffened, feeling something cold, hairless and quite thin brush across his shin.

The man sat up and turned on the cheap bamboo lamp on his nightstand. He held his breath, trying to convince himself that snakes could never enter, slither, or even phase into his apartment.

He hated snakes. He hated them with a passion that was almost enviable if it were applied somewhere creatively.

"There is no fucking way…" Kanda said quietly. He carefully glanced around his queen-sized mattress and into the folds of his deep red bed sheets. Only when the man pulled away the blanket off the second pillow, the source of his fright became evident.

"Brat! What the hell are you doing in my bed?"

The blind boy turned his head upwards and smiled with a disarming naivety.

"You said to go to sleep."

"Not in my fucking _bed_!"

The boy sat upright. He suddenly extended his arm, touching Kanda's nose. The man drew back, bumping into the lamp and successfully knocking it over.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Hush, don't move. I can't find Campy."

Kanda froze. Unable to hide his rage anymore, he grabbed the kid again, still trying not to increase his body's interaction with the mattress.

"You let the fucking rat into _my bed_?"

The boy flinched. He seemed to regret his choice of the sleep-place. Or so Kanda perceived his nervous swallowing of air. Only when the boy began to strike weakly his hands, the man understood. He let go of his collar, letting the kid fall on the red pillow.

"You almost strangled me over a bloody bed," the boy hissed spasmodically. "You inept gorilla."

"Shut your damn hole," the man growled back, happy that his opponent couldn't see him. He was a bit sorry. That think was only a kid after all. No matter how old the perp, it would be still child abuse if they didn't have at least the earliest signs of puberty.

"As for your rat…"

The boy hit him blindly in the cheek.

"You're a rat. He's a ferret." He puffed his mouth and got off the bed, trying to get his cane.

"What are you trying to do?" Kanda murmured, making an effort to sound neutral. The bean-sprout (now he resembled the plant more than ever) reached under the bed and popped back up with the ferret in his hand. Then he silently yet provocatively got back into the bed and stuffed the animal under the pillow, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"Good night."

"What fucking g'night!" Kanda shrieked, jerking the pillow under the white head and looking (with some pleasure) as the cranium collided with the ferret. "Get that thing off the bed or I'll throw you out!"

The guest didn't move; he only grabbed the animal and hugged it with all his might. Kanda bit his lip.

There were only two things he could do: to kick the kid off the bed, or to push the kid off the bed. To let him sleep with the furry snake was too big of a risk. Plus, it was against Kanda's principles to bring animals, women or Lavi to his apartment. And now he had two of them.

"Just… put him under the bed." The man proposed with a calmer voice noticing that his watch was courteously pointing at 2:23. He had to get up at six. "Come on; just put it under the bed."

"And what, you'll hit it with a hammer? No, thank you. I'd rather have my Campy safe with me."

Kanda bit his tongue and gritted his teeth at the same time.

"Then at least put him on the pillow on _the floor_ on _your side_. I won't touch _your side_."

The boy moved a tad.

"Promise?"

Kanda grated his teeth again.

"Promise. Now put the rat down."

The boy smirked, and grabbing Kanda's pillow carefully planted Campy on it. He then pushed the ferret's new home under the bed. Kanda distinctly heard a loud smooch, and the boy crawled back into the bed with the widest smile ever.

"He made a hole in your pillow and fell asleep in the stuffing," he said, fluffing the remaining pillow, then nuzzling into it. Kanda bit his lip. It was already close to three in the night, and he had about the same time to fall asleep, dream and wake up. Plus, it was Tuesday tomorrow, meaning the hardest classes in his schedule were gathered together, like a pack of hyenas.

This was no time to fight with the ruthless bastard who just gutted his pillow. The man lay down and replaced the absent headrest with his own arm. He could take it. He could endure one night (three hours exactly) without a mediocre commodity. He could take it. It was just one damn night. One night without a pillow.

A brush of cold hairless leg against his own made him shudder. A suddenly loud tap-tap-tap of small, naked ferret feet rolled across his floor then the armoire door creaked, letting the furry invasion in. Something fell down, then, after a quick yet prompt pause, shattered.

Kanda grimly overviewed his thoughts.

He couldn't take it.

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**Uff. I had fun. I hope you did.**

**And don't forget to drop a line; I am very happy when I get reviews. Plus, it stimulates my creativity.**

**Thank you.**


	3. Firebird 3

**Chapter 3**

Kanda opened his eyes and abruptly sat up.

Something has gone dreadfully wrong; he just knew it. For one, he was well rested and for a college student that was… improbable.

The man lay back down and focused. Then he gazed into the window, noticing that the sun was horribly yellow, and kind of on the wrong side of the sky.

"What the fuck…"

He jumped up and stared at the clock above the bed's head. It shyly pointed at three pm. The man gulped.

"Oh god. Oh dear god."

He just sat there, mute, his mind blank.

"Sonnova… Shit!"

His classes had started eight hours ago, and his job, another three. Which meant that he had to be cleaning the one eyed canary's cage right now, while cursing and (sometimes, when times called for it or Lavi was screwing) serving the customers. Neither of which he was doing right now.

Something moved in the background and the man turned his head, startled.

"Good afternoon, Kanda."

Kanda gazed absently at his guest, not fully understanding his situation. Then he weakly got off the bed and tried to find his sleepers. The bean sprout approached him silently, offering him a small pink cup of coffee.

"They called from the store."

The man froze in a very awkward position— one foot heading toward the sleeper and the other still on the bed. The boy sat on the carpet and stared at Kanda with glassy eyes.

"Some old woman said you have been sacked. I'm sorry, Kanda."

"Sacked?"

"Fired."

The man slowly lifted an arm and tucked his hair behind one ear. Then, as if forgetting his previous actions, slowly let it slide through his fingers.

"Kanda, are you fine? You don't sound fine."

The man silently got up and headed to the shower door. He stepped over the boy carefully, as if he were furniture.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he said calmly, opening the door to the bathroom. It smelled cold inside. The boy turned his head into Kanda's direction. He smiled guiltily.

"Sorry. You were so tired— so I figured a few hours of sleep wouldn't hurt." He swallowed emptily. "I presume I was wrong."

"Mm. You were."

The door closed. Kanda didn't turn on the lights. He slowly slid off the door on the floor and dully stared at the toilet.

Tomorrow was the payday. Tomorrow was also the date he paid his water and heating bills. The man silently slid his fingers through his hair. He had to pay his college dues too, by the end of the month. And it was already not so far away.

As if mocking him, his memory threw up a sign on his English Proff's door. It said DUE DATES ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR with a car mirror on it. It was yellow, with black stripes.

Kanda chuckled.

It was like he's gone a little psycho. Just a little. Behind the door, a meek voice made its way.

"Kanda, are you all right? Look, I'm really sorry, I really didn't mean it to happen this way—" some fidgeting, some sighs, and the boy spoke again, almost begging. "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Alright."

The voice died away; the man closed his eyes. He just needed not to panic. It all could be resolved if he thought this through.

Alright. It seemed to work.

He clearly knew that he had approximately eight hundred dollars in his account, which went directly to the utilities, leaving him with zero options. The rent was one thousand and a half, (which was a little high, but he had a nice kitchen, and the floors were not shit) plus the broken camera had to be fixed.

The man tightened his lips.

Maybe the rent lady could wait.

"Kanda? Are you… um, trying to kill yourself there?" It seemed that the kid was alarmed by his own thoughts because he started to speak rapidly.

"It's not worth it, believe me! It doesn't do much good; it only leaves scars and then you'll have trouble with people staring at your wrists!"

Kanda raised his brows at this one.

"Ok, now you're bloody scaring me, Kanda. Please say something!"

Kanda got up and opened the door. He stared at the boy who was currently sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom door.

"Kanda?"

"No, it's Voldemort, retard."

The boy flinched. He hastily got up and grabbed the man by the sleeve. Kanda stopped in his tracks. His hand itched to give this kid a good beating. Maybe if he used the hose to whip his skinny white ass it wouldn't involve Child Services.

"Look, since it's my fault, just accept my offer and everything will be solved!"

Kanda bit his lip. He suddenly saw red, and not only red, but Campy sneaking into the sleeper under his bed, the one he, Kanda, was reaching for a few minutes before.

"If you don't disappear this instant," the man whispered slowly, "I will fucking shred you, then stuff you into the toaster."

The bean sprout let go of the sleeve and silently backed into the wall. Kanda grabbed the phone and stomped with all his might on the inhabited sleeper. When no screams (or guts) came out of the shoe, Kanda faintly noticed a long quivering tail coming out of his hat.

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"Oh, holy fuck."

The shitty old bat refused to accept the rent money any later than Tuesday. For the record, that was tomorrow. For her it was almost an act of heroism, since the woman acutely resembled the lovechild of Mr. Krabs and Scrooge. Kanda stared at his mute phone.

He had called the store too, to see if maybe the old hag will somehow "forgive" him. He shoulda known better, she said. He had been late before, too, she said. She also said that he was rude, and a terrible people person. _That_ made him fume.

Apparently, the incident with the blind kid didn't go well. Some very conscientious lady left a message for the store manager, mentioning that the service "was quite poor, and the young man very, very rude."

Kanda gritted his teeth. _It was Lavi's job, for fuck's sake!_

He hated Lavi. He hated women. He hated men too. In fact, he hated people. _There you go, a statement which serves the lowest common denominator._ Which was humanity in general. Kanda heard a tentative cough behind him.

"Um… maybe this is not the right time, but…"

Kanda stared hatefully over his shoulder; the boy fidgeted in one place.

"…It's just a small thing…"

"_What?_"

The boy flushed red.

"I kind of can't cook, so I haven't eaten since eight. And it's already four o'clock."

The man silently swallowed the idea that the fucking brat got up at _eight,_ and didn't wake him up. Just seeing that small face made him tremble with contempt. He gritted his teeth and paced into the kitchen. As he stopped in front of the sink, he distinctly heard the light steps of the boy follow him. The man spun around.

"Get the hell out! Are you trying to piss me off?"

The boy drew his head into the shoulders, like a shy turtle.

"No, I just..."

Kanda stared him down, wishing with all his might for the boy to sprout some eyes and see the killing intent he had been emanating for hours. Then he saw the pleading, hooded eyes, the way the small nose scrunched in misery and the white teeth biting the side of pale lips. He was being manipulated in the most ruthless, unforgivable and shameless way.

And the most infuriating fact was that the brat knew it, Kanda knew it, and the brat knew that Kanda knew it. If it were Lavi, Kanda wouldn't have any scruples in bashing his nose in. He would have done it with enthusiasm.

But the kid was blind. Instead of being pitiful and unable and other negative adjectives, he was anything but.

Kanda was at loss. He had nothing against disabled people. Sure, he found it irritable to wait about fifteen minutes behind a small, evanescent old lady in the wheelchair that got stuck in the doors of the small bookshop with an almost ritual regularity. Sure, he wished to sometimes jump over her head in such cases (He could. Believe him.).

But he would never do that. It would be wrong.

Kanda eyed the boy again. In this case, it wouldn't be wrong.

"I won't be underfoot. I'll just wait."

When the kid touched his way to the closest chair and silently planted himself in it, the man sighed, then turned away and found the eggs.

"Eggrolls."

The boy's head rose immediately.

"What?"

"I'll make eggrolls. If you don't like them, go starve. I'll cheer you on."

The boy puckered his lips, trying to contain a smile.

"It's alright with me."

"Good."

The silence was filling with the sizzling of the bacon and cheese leaving the boy salivating. He was listening attentively to the sounds of the food, like a newbie student at his first college class. Kanda watched him swallow dryly with the corner of his eye. The boy was amusing to observe.

"You…"

"What?" the boy eagerly responded, turning his head sideways, like a parrot. Kanda put a plate with food in front of him and sat down. The boy spread his fingers, trying to find the fork. Kanda silently noticed the flat tips of his fingers, the wide span they stretched, and the almost perfect curves they formed when his hand cupped the apple next to his plate.

"You play piano," Kanda said, calmly poking the eye of his fried egg. The boy almost spat his food out. He jumped off the tall chair, trying to find the fork. When he rose back and put the fork on the table, Kanda noticed the slight trembling of his hands.

"I guess you didn't want me to know, huh?"

The boy sat back, his head low, lips twitching.

"How did you—"  
"Fingers," Kanda calmly replied, swallowing another bacon stripe. It was overcooked. He coughed and reached for the water jar. The boy weakly poked the egg with the fork, then stopped touching his food altogether.

"Finish your plate."

Kanda got up and grabbed the Palmolive bottle. In three seconds, he was deeply immersed into scrubbing his plate and frying pan.

Lavi once told him he'd make a good wife. That was how he lost his front teeth. Kanda frowned. He never thought of taking care of his material needs as girly, womanly or even "chick-ish" (Lavi's reaction when Kanda combed his hair). He called that surviving skills, and as long as he was living alone—"

"Finish your plate," Kanda growled, noticing surprisingly little enthusiasm on the hungry kid's part. The boy poked the egg some more, then let the fork touch the tablecloth.

"I'm not hungry." He rose. "Thank you for the food."

Kanda bit his lip. The sponge he was holding suddenly started to bleed lather.

"Eat your fucking food or I'll feed it to you myself."

The boy looked surprised. He almost smiled, probably finding it curious that someone he barely knew was using the authority restricted solely to his parent.

"No," he laughed at the thought of being fed by this rude, brutish man. Kanda was a stranger; he wouldn't dare force food down someone else's throat.

"I warned you," a strangled hiss tickled the bean-sprout's ear. Kanda lifted him by the armpits and slammed him into the chair. Before the boy could protest, two fingers holding a half of an egg between bread bits were forcing themselves into his throat.

"Eat. Your. Fucking. Food." Kanda cupped his chin with one hand and suddenly pressed on the joints of the mandible. The lower jaw flew open. Three seconds later, the boy swallowed the whole plate plus the bacon and two slices of bread.

Kanda collected the plate and started scrubbing it with viciousness, almost taking the geometric pattern off it together with the food bits.

"Always finish your plate, you fucking brat. Or else."

_There was nothing wrong with making a point. _The man's hands grew still for a fraction of second when he heard a muffled sob behind him.

"Oh, god. What now? Are you thirsty?"

"Put a sock in it!"

Kanda snorted and began to dry the plates. He stared at the kid who was furiously wiping his eyes. He hadn't worn his sunglasses at all today.

"If you want to stay here, you have to obey three rules," the plates clacked as Kanda hang the towel. "Eat your food. Don't complain. And no women allowed in my house."

The boy stiffed.

"You're accepting my offer?"

The man's lips twitched. He silently imagined himself on the street with his camera still broken.

"As if I have a choice."

The kid hmm-ed. He puckered his lips, vivaciously demonstrating "_me, lost in thought_."

"What now?" Kanda growled. He began to dislike his decision.

"I also have three rules. The deal's off if you don't accept."  
"What?"

"You heard me." The boy grinned. "So, rule nr. one: don't you dare hurt Campy. Rule nr. two," the boy stubbornly continued despite the muffled cry of indignation on Kanda's part. "Don't tell anyone I live here."

"Are you some kind of wanted—"

"No." The boy's face became cold and collected. Kanda shrugged. He didn't care either way.

"And three. Don't ever feed me. Or I'll tell Campy to gnaw on your bloody bollocks."

"What's that?"

The kid raised one eyebrow.

"Testicles."

Kanda snarled and shuddered at the same time.

"Can't you say so?"

The boy hmm-ed.

"Not that I want to be an arse, but you were the ones to drop all that fine tea into the water. Therefore, your fault for not speaking proper English."

The man dropped the ladle he was wiping.

"You little—"

"I'm still growing."

Kanda sighed. He tried to remember why they were at each other's throats in the first place._ Oh, that was it._

"If you ever disrespect my cooking, I'll slice you like a fucking cucumber."

The boy hid a smile. It seemed like they could stay with each other in one room without jumping to verbal attacks if he didn't comment on the man's cooking skills. He shrugged.

"Alright. I'll just have to call my bank to deposit the money into your account."

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Kanda tiredly checked his email. He had just called his chemistry prof to explain his absence from the lab and that did not go well. He wiped his eyes. It was three in the morning; his classes started at eleven. He had time for sleep.

Yawning lightly, the man sank into the sofa and turned on the TV.

"—_Kilimanjaro, the first gay—excuse me—blind man to climb the mountain. The severe draught.."_

The man snorted. That was the one reason he watched the news.

"_One of the Britain's popular violin players has been declared missing three months ago by his guardian. Allen Walker is known for the stunning performance of Devil's Trill in Vienna…"_

Whoever killed that kid was in deep shit, Kanda mused, gently stroking his glass of iced tea. The next moment the same hand clasped the cup spasmodically, breaking off the handle. The picture of the kidnapped/dead/possibly mutilated kid was on the screen. Kanda stared, his loss of words not helping.

The same white hair circled the same pale face. The gray calm eyes smiled to him from the nineteen-inch TV screen.

"…_one of the youngest people to sell a hit album that came in the fifth place in UK…"_

Something moved behind him and Kanda turned the TV off.

"Kanda, can you show me where the toilet is? My sense of direction is deplorable."

Kanda got up the sofa and stepped on the remote, flinching.

"What was your name again?"

"I never told you, but I believe it was bean-sprout. Oh, wait. You wouldn't remember my name," the boy grinned. He was only in his boxers, seeming to be much older than he did with his clothing on. He looked relaxed. He lifted his hand, touching Kanda's chest. The man drew back. The boy frowned.

"Kanda?"

The man snapped out of his daze.

"What?"

"I really need to go to the toilet. Your playing tag with me doesn't help."

The man tch-ed and grabbed the small hand and pulled, almost knocking the boy over. He stopped for a bit to let the person get up, then sharply left him in front of the bathroom door.

"Indulge yourself."

The boy grabbed him by the hand before Kanda could leave.

"Kanda, Is something wrong?"

The man twitched.

"Yes. You holding my hand in front of the bathroom. It's a bathroom, for god's sake, not a torture chamber, so get inside and do your business."

The boy let off a soft chuckle.

"Kanda, I appreciate your unobtrusive ways, but I think I need to clarify something." He stared at Kanda with his clear, half lidded eyes and the man felt like a total bastard.

"I have never been in your toilet. Just tell me where everything is and I'll be alright. Unless you want me to miss the—"

"Alright, Ok," Kanda stopped him hastily. The thought of cleaning up after the kid made him queasy. He entered the bathroom and silently planted the boy's hand to the nearest object.

"Sink. Next, toilet. The shower is on the right. And the bathtub is—"

"Books?"

Kanda turned around.

"What?"

The boy was kneeling, his palms on the ground.

"You read in the bathroom? That's—"

"Lavi sneaked it in here, I guess…"

The man took the book away, chuckling at the title. It was Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea by Jules Verne, a book Lavi hid in the strangest places in Kanda's house. To read in the bathroom? So fitting of Lavi.

"Um, Kanda, can you… leave? I find the presence of a toilet bowl more appropriate than yours right now."

The man shrugged. Seeing fleetingly his face in the mirror, the man's shoulders dropped even lower. Not only he looked tired as hell, he was standing next to a prepubescent and almost naked kid who was slightly jumping on one leg, trying not to relieve himself.

"Well, g'night. And wash your hands."

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Kanda stared at the ceiling. It was the middle of the night, and all he could think about was the small figure that slept next to him. He had tried to make the kid sleep on the sofa, but the stubborn Brit refused. He also refused the idea of Kanda sleeping on the sofa. He said it would make him feel guilty.

_If he felt guilty, he shoulda have slept on the fucking sofa in the first place._

Kanda turned on one side and stared at the kid. He was lying with his back at the man, his arms crossing his chest. Kanda could see one of his naked legs come off the bed, almost touching the floor, and the other one curled up in the red sheets.

The man let his eyes droop drowsily as sleep came over him in soft, Herbal Essences-smelling waves. When the thought hit his brain, the man was wide-awake again. He curiously rose and extended his neck to find the source of the smell, until the white hair tickled his nose.

Kanda snorted. _The kid was using girly shampoo_, with an _orgasmic experience._

How sad.

And then Kanda almost choked, thinking that he was laying next to some kid, instead of a girlfriend, and would get up at ten, not six, because he was fired.

Now, he never really cared for women in the first place, even though he had dated several. He had to do it, or Lavi wouldn't have shut up about his long hair and blatant disinterest in PlayBoy Magazine. Kanda yawned and turned away from the boy, staring into the empty wall.

He had never liked PlayBoy. Maybe the naked women reminded him too much of the models he had to paint, photograph, and film. Maybe they were art to him; the chiaroscuro of their skin, hair, and faces was an expression of art. And bedding the art was a bit too much for him.

_Or maybe he was gayer than the rainbow,_ Lavi had suggested to him when he applied the paint onto someone's breast without getting hard.

_Maybe he was. _But again_,_ Kanda yawned, he had never been interested in hairy assed men who hit on him in the bar, where he usually appeared to bring Lavi home.

He stared up, noticing a small line, like a fine fracture that split the ceiling. _Maybe he was asexual. Maybe the thought of screwing made him queasy._

Beside him, a sigh was emitted. Kanda turned on the corresponding side and almost drew away when the sleeping kid nuzzled his face into his neck. The man stiffed. His muscles tensed like springs. A thin white arm snaked on his belly and, brushing past his heart, rested on Kanda's opposite shoulder. The man gulped, lifting his head. The boy's head was closely snuggled into his chest, tickling his throat with a warm and quiet breath.

_It was ok. It wasn't so bad_. Kanda bit his lip.

After all, he was assexual. He had no interest in-

The man pressed his lips tightly, trying to muffle himself. The kid sighed, his nose touching the man's Adam's apple.

_PlayBoy, _Kanda desperately chanted, _art, the camera, the fucking ferret..._ He stiffed.

Now, of all times, Kanda was hard.

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**Now, I don't envy Kanda at all. At all.**

**Thank you, kiddies for reading this chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, people. It has been a long time since I updated (stuff happened). I know I disappointed some of you because of my inconsistency, but unfortunately I can only blame reality. This year was really hard for me since I lost interest in most of things that I previously liked. I had to go to college away from home and being apart from my family made me very depressed. I could barely write my final papers, nevermind fanfiction. But, as funny as it sounds, I began reading Harry Potter ffcs and came back from the dead. Thanks, HP ffcs!

Er, I went back and rewrote some of the details in the previous chapters, nothing major. I have to say that this chapter is very 'talky' but I can't help it since it is important to the plot.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 4**

There are two vital skills that every successful man should possess: how to make instant ramen, and how to exorcise unwanted hardness in the unspeakable regions. After all, the two out of three driving forces of the male hemisphere, hunger and sex (the third being the sports channel) haunts every self respecting male at an average rate of 3.5 minutes.

Kanda never ate ramen, and positively despised sports (Why should I ogle strangers catching and passing their balls?), while the most basic human need, sex, remained.

Only that could explain his current position.

Crouched in the bathroom, hands tugging painfully in his hair, Kanda refused to touch himself. No, he was not one of those religious idiots who claimed that masturbation brought about the apocalypse. And no, he did not consider self pleasuring an unclean act.

It was a matter of pride.

"Fucking brat."

The man groaned in the dark, resting his back against the cool tiles. About five minutes ago, he made a hasty and strategic retreat into the bathroom (no, he was not fucking running away) and collapsed vis-à-vis the toilet bowl. He didn't turn on the light because he would imminently stare at himself in the mirror and see his flushed face. He refused to be affected by a pubescent brat.

Ah, screw it.

His hand snaked to his pajama bottoms only to be abruptly jerked away, startled by a very fast and light pitter-patter sound in the night. Kanda held his breath, trying to discern the faint noise. A few seconds, and something scurried on the bare floor, stopping every five or six seconds to give the illusion of absolute stillness.

"Br—" And Kanda didn't call out. It couldn't be the brat. Instead, he reached up and turned on the light.

Three paces away from him, the brat's ferret, TomFuckingCamping, was merrily licking his own balls. As if sensing the man's incredulous stare, the animal lifted his head graciously, then trotted to the toilet bowl. With a graceful leap, the ferret perched on the white margin, smirked at Kanda's disbelieving sputtering, and began to drink.

Needless to say, Kanda experienced the most efficient turnoff of the century, after which he hobbled to the bed, pushed the kid to the margin (telling him what _exactly_ he thought his pets), and went to sleep.

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When Kanda woke up, he immediately noticed two things. One, it was not as early as he would want it to be. Two, his shoulder was heavy, numb and wet. He huffed, trying to turn sideways, and promptly cringed when his nose collided with a white head. His first instinct told him to jump away. He ignored it in favour of squinting at his situation.

Fact number one. He had gotten hard because of this brat during the night. Kanda stared down, noticing the scrawny shoulder of the aforementioned human. There was some muscle, a few blue veins, and a small, dark brown mole. The man sneered, coming to a conclusion—too skinny.

Continuing his inspection, Kanda noticed that the boy's eyes were rimmed with dark circles, that his nose was too short and a bit turned up, and that his lower lip was too full. Kanda sighed.

There was no way he found the brat attractive. He had worked with many models, many of which were quite attractive. They all shared some degree of classicism in their features, which Kanda considered beautiful. At least, beautiful enough to be photographed. This kid… Kanda stared intently again and squinted. No, he did not feel like humping him. Nor kissing. And it wasn't the gender.

Kanda inspected the boy's face. Then cringed.

"Get up. Your mouth smells."

The boy had the audacity to snuggle, rubbing his face into Kanda shoulder. The man shuddered, got up and unceremoniously pushed the boy awake.

"I said get up. It's already seven."

"Just …many more minutes…" a mumble, a sigh, and more stillness.

Kanda followed his established routine as he entered the kitchen. As always, he turned on the TV in the living room, then glanced on the windowsill where a small pot with violets made itself present through the dusty blue of its flowers. Grunting appreciatively and sticking a finger into its ground to see if it's dry, Kanda waited exactly thirty seconds to fill the tea pot.

"…Lauren with our weather report. Lauren?"

"Thank you, Brian."

Kanda scoffed. What unimaginative names. Couldn't their parents be original, for once? He would definitely watch a news program until the very end if the woman were named Stan Bananahamok. He stared at the TV, where the pretty brunette tried to look professional in fuzzy earmuffs. Definitely not a Bananahamok.

"…cancelations, and many flights will be late or canceled for the next 48 hours. Despite the relatively high temperatures, the snowstorm…"

Kanda tuned her out, in favour of the cancelation list scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Fairly soon, his school was announced, and the man sighed. At least, he'll have time to do groceries. And clean his apartment. And maybe try to find a job.

"Kanda?"

Ah. His job. The man glanced over his shoulder, noticing the disheveled state of his…occupant.

"You're up. How delightful." Not. Kanda turned off the TV. Startled by the absence of noise, the boy turned his head sharply to the left. His voice was thick with sleep and his mouth—Kanda cringed—was sown together by a string of coagulated saliva. Hump that? Only over his rotting cadaver.

"Um, could you leave it on? I want to listen to the news. I think today it's Laura and Brian from the third channel."

A click, and the noise was back. Kanda watched impassively as the boy touched his way around the sofa, then curled on it and pulled the first cloth in his way (Kanda's bathrobe) to his ears. After a few seconds he fidgeted.

"Have you seen TimCampy? I couldn't find him." His head rose from the sofa arm towards the TV. "Is that Laura lady laughing? I bet she has dimples. I really like dimples and a nice laughter."

The man opened his mouth to respond, but instead, he clamped his lips down. Somehow, the brat seemed more insufferable than ever, lying down like _that_, as if he knew the room for a long time. And the way he clung to the bathrobe…Kanda swallowed down a jolt of irritation. He did not like when a stranger made his or her routine in _his _house.

"If you want breakfast, come into the kitchen," he said quietly, just enough to cover the noise from the news program. The boy mumbled something, and Kanda squished another ardent wish of slamming something over his head. He tried to distract himself by staring at the window and watching a half frozen pigeon that kept trying to cross the street by the means of power lines. The fact that the power cords were parallel to the road never crossed the pigeon's head, Kanda mused.

His reverie was interrupted by soft shuffling of feet and the scratch of a stool. Kanda turned, discovering the boy.

"Oh, mint tea. How refreshing."

"Hn."

The boy smiled peacefully, eyes closed, nose almost touching the lip of the cup.

"I think I can smell linden. Did you add linden flowers?"

The man sat down and pulled his own cup, taking a small sip. It was sugarless. How bland.

"No, I didn't."

A pause, during which Kanda stared with irritation at two strands of white hair floating the small distance from the kid's head to the blue tablecloth.

"Kanda?"

"What." It wasn't even a question.

"We'll go to the vet today."

The solid cube of sugar Kanda held burst, and the man rubbed his fingers together to get rid of the bits. With some perverse slowness he constructed and deconstructed the small sentence uttered by the boy.

Not "Can we go to the pet store today?"

Not "May we please, please, with soba on top, go to the pet shop?"  
Just a plain statement of the future, "We will go to the pet store today."

All he growled in response was,

"It's a fucking blizzard outside and you want to go to a pet shop?"

The boy's face split into a toothy smile and two squinty crevices.

"Campy need vitamins. He looks a bit limp lately.

"You can't see."

The boy frowned.

"I felt him."

"You felt him…being limp?" the man snorted, and almost chocked at the supposed insinuation. "Where exactly did you touch him?"

The boy's brow rose in a graceful arch. Then, maintaining the same arch, the face became beet red.

"You bloody pervert. I would _never_ touch Campy like that! Never!"

Kanda bit back a prejudiced response. After all, different people have different hobbies. Instead, he rose and began to clean up after himself.

"In any case, I need to get out a bit. And of course, you, as a valiant and well mannered caretaker, will come with me," the boy said, finishing off another sandwich.

Kanda stopped midway from putting a few slivers of linden into the teapot. Instead, he crushed it fervently, opening his mouth to deliver a rather lively description of their plans for this afternoon.

"I won't—"

He was interrupted by a loud knock into the door. The boy cocked his head towards it.

"I think someone's at the door."

"I think someone's stating the obvious. I am not deaf."

The boy pouted. He listened as the man wiped his hands with that soft towel of his (No male would choose such towels. Seriously. They were as fluffy as a bloody kitten.), then carefully tip-toed behind the soft sounds of Kanda's footsteps. The creak of the door was covered up by the rather colorful greeting that Kanda invented on the spot, seeing the intruder. Driven by the typical British sense of exploring, which other nations call empiricism, he crouched near the sofa, turned his head toward the door and prepared to uncover some secrets. The stranger was already inside, and he was talking with Kanda rather animatedly.

So, the boy listened.

"—ing, I just wanted to—" implored a frail male voice. The boy heard Kanda snort.

"I don't want you here. I'm sure Daisy needs them for his football team."

"It's Daisya, you fucking—" another male voice joined the verbal brawl. Another snort, then a loud bang made the kid wince.

"Now, Yuu, I know you don't really need it, but just in case—"

"Yeah, Yuu, you don't fucking need it, but Dad here is fucking worried. So be a good girl and take the fucking money."

A growl, something sounding like "I'm not a girl," or possibly, "I'm gonna curl," but then a long wail reached the living room.

"By hucking bose! By hucking bose!"

"It'll be your fucking balls next time, Daisy. Now, get the fuck out."

The wail was interrupted by a groan, then a slam of the door.

"Yuu, please."

"Tiedo—"

"Please," the old man's voice was so anxious, so imploring. The boy peeked over the coach arm and heard the distinct sound of Kanda's grating teeth.

"I won't take long. I really won't. I just want to know how you are."

Soft footsteps, Kanda's probably, followed by a hesitant walk of socked feet. The boy crouched behind the sofa again.

They made it to the kitchen, and in a few minutes the whistle of the kettle made the kid peek out. Seriously, all Kanda did was tea. Maybe he was of British origins, the boy mused, but then the blatant American accent crushed that theory.

"You're cooking for yourself," the old man said, then smiled. The kid heard his soft snort. "Five years ago, you couldn't cook an egg."

"A lot happened," Kanda said quietly pouring tea. Then silence. A loud and wet sip.

"How's school?"

Kanda hesitated.

"It's alright." Then he added quietly, more like a whisper, "They put me on honor's roll or something. Top ten percent of my class."

"Oh." Silence. The thin, white smell of mint with the transparent yellow of linden slivers. The boy gasped. The bloody bastard lied; he _did_ put linden into the tea. "I… I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to say."

The boy strained to hear.

"I…" the old man began, "I saw your mother a few days ago. She's alright."

"Oh, really." Kanda's voice was venomous, almost dripping with hatred. "You saw that woman and you came to tell me she's alright? Fuck her, and fuck you. Get out."

"Yuu, please. I just don't know what to say. I…You grew up so fast."

"Of course I did. Lack of parents does that to you."

"Yuu…"

Kanda sneered.

"Yes, that's my name. I'm happy you remember."

"I just want to know you're alright. I just…"

"Yes, I know. You don't know what to say."

Silence. The boy sighed. So, his grim babysitter had a father. That much he could guess. The old man snorted as much as Kanda did. Not only that, the snorts themselves came in different intonations and meanings, insinuating only one fact, the older man knew Kanda well, as well as his rather rich collection of snorts. He rolled his eyes and almost yowled when a voice hissed over his head.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

What _was _he doing? He was laying on the ground, face in the carped, his butt up and, judging by Kanda's furious huffing, very visible.

"I was… sniffing your carpet."

Something grabbed the boy by his arms then forcefully dragged him into the kitchen.

"—Little brat, can't even spy properly—"

"Yuu, what are you—" a sharp intake of breath. "Allen?"

Exactly at the same moment, both the boy and Kanda stiffened at an unnatural angle. Their innards froze, both for different reasons. _Fuck, he knows him,_was a distinct Kanda thought. After all, Tiedoll knew art very well. He had been a big hit since his debut, and now, in his sixties, he was a prominent name in the art world. Since he sponsored numerous classical debutants, it was very plausible that he could have recognized a talented seventeen year old whose disappearance caused a furor.

The boy's head hosted an entire different bedlam. _Oh dear sweet god and three holy saints, I am so, so screwed. Kanda'll know, Cross will find out; they'll take me back!_ The high pitched mental mantra in the boy's head was interrupted by the old man again.

"Allen Walker. It's you, isn't it?"

Kanda threw a glance at the boy whose hands he was pulling. He was deathly white.

"It's not him," he said impromptu. "Just a stupid fan of that violin player. Bleached his hair and everything."

Tiedoll took off his glasses, leaned forward over the table and tried to brush the locks of white hair away. Inexplicably, Kanda _really _had no idea what possessed him, he pushed Tiedoll's hand away. Then, just as inexplicably, he let go of the boy's arms and tucked his face into his chest, obscuring Tiedoll's view.

"It's not him."

"But-but—"

"I know," Kanda gave a burdened sigh. "He looks horrible. He even reproduced that tacky British accent."

"Um," the boy patted Kanda's arm hard, trying to release his face from the man's chest.

"I think you're suffocating him, Yuu," the amused voice spoke softly. "Fan or no fan, anyone with enough sense to like Allen Walker's music has to be a tasteful person."

Kanda snorted with disdain and let him go. The boy whimpered, his back hunched and ears red. Kanda pushed him towards a chair and groaned when the boy hit his toes.

"Yuu, is he bli—oh."

Kanda eyed his father under the lashes.

"I take you won't believe me if I say that he, all fan-like, took his own sight?"

The kid whimpered again, looking very much like a beaten dog. Tiedoll gazed at Kanda with those owlish, blue eyes of his, completely floored.

"God help me, Yuu. That sounds like a complete fib. I take it he's the real Allen, then."

Kanda sat down. He threw a glance at the kid and slapped him over his hunched back.

"Sit up straight, bean sprout. You look like a wilted banana."

Allen smiled in spite of the tension and sat straighter. Tiedoll smiled back with a lost, feeble expression. Kanda took pity on them.

"Froi Tiedoll, this is Bean Sprout. Bean Sprout, this is my father, Froi Tiedoll."

"I'm not Bean Sprout! It's Allen! Allen Walker!"

Kanda smirked. The boy could feel it. And, just for your information, the man's smirks came in different shades and meanings, just like his stupid snort.

"Oh my," the soft, albeit moderately enthusiastic voice of Allen's new acquaintance snapped him out of his reverie. "So, it is you."

Kanda's soft huff from his nostrils might have as well said, "duh, stupid plant. _I _didn't say your name."

Allen coughed. Tiedoll stared at him as if he was Messiah. Bending over the table, he looked at him dazedly with his blue myopic eyes.

"Everyone is looking for you, you know."

Allen sat up straighter, his face a pale and scrunched, as if he was carrying the guilt of the whole world.

"Oh, yes. I know."

"The first week after your disappearance Marian drank and gambled and lost my hunting dogs. Said that his godson will take care of it. But I wish he hadn't touched the old pear tree. It was rather dear to me."

Allen's face became almost entirely white. His nostrils quivered.

"A-a pear tree?"

Tiedoll laughed softly.

"Oh, yes. Back in the day, when I was taken by gardening, I managed to cross a few species. The result was a small pear tree with blue leaves. One of a kind."

Defying the impossible, Allen's face took the shade of the ceiling.

"One of a k-kind?"

Tiedoll smiled while raiding Kanda's sugar bowl. After all it had cubes in it. And everyone knew cubes were tastier than sugar granules.

"Well, Marian is quite brutish. He said if he cut the tree down, you'd show up since you know the godson. I was mystified at first, but then again, I needed to meet this godson so that he can find my hunting dogs. Lassie especially."

Allen sat up even straighter. He brought his blind eyes up, toward the voice. A cold tremor overtook him, and Kanda could see the beads of cold sweat on his forehead and upper lip.

"Hunting dogs. Bloody hunting dogs." Allen whispered. His voice was high and bore the beginning of hysteria. "And a bloody pear tree!"

"Yes," Tiedoll obliviously dug around the sugar bowl, and grinned victoriously when the last lump of sugar ended up on his mustache. "I recon this godson of Marian's will have a lot of bill on his hands."

"Who's Marian?" Kanda barged into the conversation. He had noticed the pallor on the sprout's face.

"He's Allen's guardian," the old man was quick to explain.

"He's my godfather," Allen whispered, shuddering. Both men looked at him with mixed feelings. Tiedoll especially.

"_You're _the godson? My god, he _was _right. He cut the pear tree down and here you are."

Allen whimpered.

"Of course he would say that. After all, I'll have to pay for the bloody tree. And his gambling debt. And the bloody dogs. Oh, how I hate that devil."

Tiedoll gasped.

"Allen, you shouldn't call him that. He is a very endearing man."

The boy laughed softly. He felt hysteria creep on him.

"Satan is too, when he needs to be. Anyway, the bastard can cut ten trees for all I care but I am _not_ paying back his stupid debt. And I am not going back."

Tiedoll gasped.

"But Lassie—"

"Most likely sold. As well as, I suspect, all the wine in your cellars."

Tiedoll made a soft mewling noise of a distressed mouse.

"My Beaujolais! Lassie!"

"That man sounds like unspeakable evil." Kanda murmured. The boy nodded and trembled miserably. His nose scrunched up and Kanda saw the tip of his teeth; small, grayish, and not belonging to a seventeen year old.

"And I'll have to pay his bills. Again." He sniffed, but it sounded more like a sob. "Not even my twenty five thousand will make up for that. A bottle of Beaujolais is about…" he groaned and began to twitch his fingers. "I'll have to get a job."

Kanda snorted again. How utterly ridiculous. The kid still looked as if the world just ended, so Kanda cuffed him softly over the back of his head.

"Well then, tomorrow after college I'll help you search for a job." Kanda tried to keep his voice steady and apathetic. It came out a bit softer than he had intended and for a second the man experienced the most uncomfortable feeling. He turned and frowned; his father was looking at him eagerly like a puppy that knew he was about to be kicked out, but pretended not to.

Kanda's left eye twitched.

"It's time to leave, Tiedoll."

Tiedoll's eyes twinkled behind the red framed glasses. He even wiggled in his seat. Damn.

"Leave," Kanda growled, feeling helpless despite the non-threat that sat in front of him. He tried to fortify his resolve by squaring his shoulders and gritting his teeth.

"Now."

It seemed to work. Tiedoll got up, and Kanda was again reminded of how spectacularly he inherited his mother's genes. Excluding his eyes. His old man towered over him. Tiedoll was a pretty tall man by any standards (enjoying Copenhagen as his birth city). Above Kanda's five eleven he simply overwhelmed the younger man.

"Yuu…" the soft pleading behind Kanda made his stop just for a second. "Please, I have not seen you in so long. At least let me accompany you to a café or-er, a neutral zone. And since you left," he continued softly, "Daisya keeps breaking my glasses with his ball. You'd usually stop him."

Kanda swore under his breath. He knew he would give in, eventually. He did every single time Tiedoll spoke in that soft, troubled voice and put his palm on his shoulder like that. But now was different. He was different. He had lived alone for almost three years, making it on his own without either of his parents.

He would resist.

"Please, Yuu. Just spare an hour for me. Convince Daisya to not touch my glasses."

"We're not going to the café." Kanda murmured dejectedly. Oh, for fuck's sake. He knew he'd give in. "We're going to the doctor. His snake is limp."

Tiedoll blinked. Then, his face illuminated with an epiphany.

"Oh…Y-you and him are like that?" A split of a second later he regarded his son with a face that borderlined on horrified. "Snake? Is that what they call it now?"

"Yeah. That's what they call it now." Kanda cocked his head, his brow furrowed. He hadn't understood the first part of his father's words. Shrugging, he pushed the boy to the kitchen door. "Go get dressed, bean sprout. And put your snake in a mitten or something; it's a fucking blizzard outside."

888

It was a fucking blizzard outside. Or, more precisely, the remnants of it. The trees were completely covered, their branches bending under the impossible weight of snow and ice. And even though the snowfall had just stopped, there already were people shoveling the whiteness away. Kanda looked over his shoulder where Tiedoll gingerly stepped on the grossly "cleaned" path, his light brown Berluti shoes shriveling in this relatively poor district. Allen was treading softly next to him, clearly distressed.

"Dad!" A bellow made the boy jump to his left, bumping into Kanda. Ten feet from the block they saw an elegant black car with something purple on it. The purple was approaching them rapidly.

"Dad, what took you so long? I'm freezing my balls over here!"

Allen stopped again, trying to discern whether the ooffing and cursing paces presented some sort of danger to him. He could move aside once he'd determined the noise. To his chagrin, Tiedoll took him gingerly by the elbow and stepped sideways. As the heavy coat the man wore brushed with him, Allen was almost hit by the very familiar expensive cologne he could easily identify. After all, he'd smelled it in the same room with million other expensive perfumes on expensive clothes, worn by expensive people.

He chocked.

"Allen?"

Tiedoll's kind voice made him emerge from whatever illusion he had been in. He was not in Vienne. He was not in Paris, nor in Amsterdam, nor in any cities of Benelux. He was _here, _in a small dingy town with a grumpy man who forced him to eat all on his plate and put his ferret under a bed.

"Dad, seriously, what took you so long? My car almost died! _I _almost died!"

"Shut up, Daisy."

Kanda's rather mocking intervention did not make things better. Daisya cursed, then hunched his back to get under Kanda's nose. His pale blue eyes (Tiedoll's genes) and slightly hooked nose almost touched Kanda's thin and straight one. He hissed into his face, his cheeks pale with fury and loathing.

"Shut the fuck up, you good for nothing sonnova bitch. It's good enough Dad cares for you, you heartless fuck. Although, I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, I don't want you to hurt dad."

"Daisya," Tiedoll's warning tone was promptly disregarded as the brunet lifted one hand and growled,

"Shut up, dad. It's true. Since the bastard left, you got sick." The furious man turned to Kanda and stared at him again with those pale blue eyes of his. Kanda stared back, the mocking expression leaving room for a blank one. "He was sick every day and who do _you think_ was by his side?"

"Daisya, that's enough."

Kanda tightened his lips, looking at his so called 'big brother.' They were of the same height, but radically different. While Daisya sported the crooked nose and watery blue eyes Tiedoll did, he mostly reminded the world of his mother, a rather vigorous Turkish woman with a loud voice and a louder appetite. Kanda was the polar opposite. Even the eyes, the only thing he liked about himself, were blue; they were almost as dark as those of his Japanese mother. He inherited her stature, her mannerism and even her brutal, aciculate tongue.

His musings were interrupted by the old man's palm on Daisya's shoulder, cutting his angry words.

"Please, Daisya. I have not seen Yuu in three years. And Allen here is probably cold, so let's just find a nice place and have lunch."

"Um," a shy voice meeped into the awkward silence, "can we go faster? I'm really cold." Daisya stared at the pale kid and snorted, very Kanda like. It _did_ run in the family, after all.

"Who's that, Kanda? Your girl?"

"I'm not a girl," Allen cut Kanda's growl with his own. "If you want to know what a girl looks like, look into your bloody trousers."

Shocked silence. Then Kanda laughed. It was a strange sound, and if Allen could see, he would have definitely noticed the deeply touched expression on Tiedoll's face, and something akin to disturbed horror on Daisya.

"Did he just—"

"Yes, he called you a girl," Tiedoll puffed chuckles into his hand while Kanda, startled at his own action looked more grouchy than the usual. Daisya murmured expletives under his nose until Tiedoll slapped his back and pointed to the shopping district.

"I don't know how you young people are, but I am very predisposed to getting a cup of coffee."

"Can we find the vet first? TimCampy is trembling."

The old man peeked over the frame of his red glasses at the blind boy. He frowned, trying to understand what Allen was talking about. Hearing the Kanda's words, his face suddenly cleared as if getting an old joke.

"Let the snake tremble." Kanda pulled his scarf tighter and noticed that the wind picked up. Allen had his hands cupped, holding a small, blue mitten with a quivering tale peeking out of it.

"But he'll die!"

"Too bad. Evolution is a bitch."

"It's not evolution's fault! It's hypothermia!"

Kanda scoffed.

"Same devil."

The boy pursed his lips, ready for a heated tirade, but Tiedoll interrupted him with the habitual friendly slap on the back.

"Yuu, maybe we should see the vet first. If the boy's pet dies, it is most likely that its blood will be on your hands."

Daisya suddenly grinned at Kanda's hostile expression and pulled up his purple hoodie.

"Yeah, Kanda. It'll be on your hands. You make a believable candidate for the murderer of ferrets."

"Shut the fuck up, Daisy."

888

The vet lived in a small shop, squeezed between a money lending agency of dubious intentions and a tea store. The tea store was Kanda's favorite; they spent at least one hour trying to discern Tilia Europaea from Tilia vulgaris, much to Daisya's chagrin. After buying both ("I really don't get why Latin is important; it's just linden," Allen had said) they rapped fast into the door of the vet shop.

Just as fast, they found out that due to crappy weather the vet hasn't considered to accept clients. When Kanda began to kick the door and tell his opinion about the vet's bloodline and its predisposition to hideous genetic deformations, Allen proposed they go to the closest café and warm up—his snake was limper than the usual.

And so, they found a small, half dilapidated café with the E fallen off. They went inside only to find the floor muddy and the clientele even more pathetic and dilapidated than the café.

"But it's the coffee that's important, is it not?" Allen scrunched up his nose in disgust, but it just highlighted the barely visible silvery freckles that dusted his nose. And Kanda berated himself over the fact that he _did_ notice such a minuscule detail. After all it was the same skinny brat, with a stupid snake of a ferret. Just to make a point, the man stared intensely, trying to notice something, _anything _that would make the boy just a bit more hideous than Kanda imagined him to be. His eyes stopped on the ferret Allen stroked.

"It _is_ limp," Kanda flicked at the animal's nose with his fingers. The ferret snorted, letting strings of mucus. Allen hovered over his cup, almost nuzzling into the hot steam.

"Don't irritate him, Kanda. I will be very displeased if you do."

Kanda snorted, then flicked the ferret's nose again. Tiedoll batted his palm away, but the young man sipped his coffee and kept looking at the ferret with pity.

"You should have named him Malfoy."

Daisya gave out a sudden chortle at which his brother's eyes narrowed with disdain.

"Got that, did you."

"Shut the fuck up! Remember, it was _you_ who stole my copy of Harry Potter!"

Tiedoll slapped his forehead and sighed. He had seen enough of such confrontations to know how they end. So, instead he stroked the ferret lightly and smiled toward the young prodigy.

"Don't pay any attention. TopCamping is a strange name, sure, but it's much better than Max, or, let's say Fluffy."

Daisya snorted again and almost dropped the cup of coffee in his lap.

"Fluffy! Fluffy's a Cerberus."

"Of course it is. Since it's the only book you've read," Kanda murmured, pointedly sipping his own coffee and throwing haughty glares at his brother.

Allen sputtered. His cheeks reddened.

"I-I think TimCampy is a perfectly acceptable name! Anyway, it's too late to rename him. Tim is already old."

That earned him strange looks around the table. Tiedoll stared at the ferret with a small frown; Kanda glanced at him suspiciously while smacking Daisya when the man pocked the animal with a fork.

"How old, exactly?"

Allen took a hurried sip of coffee and began to cough.

"Eight, nine years."

Kanda stared at the limp specimen.

"Are you sure that his, ah, _malady,_ is not related to his ripe age?"

The boy bit his lip, then took another sip.

"This coffee is really strange. It tastes somehow…stale."

And again, he scrunched up his nose. He was avoiding the problem, Kanda thought. And that stupid nose of his was too short, with small nostrils and— and Tiedoll was staring at his son with approval, as if he wasn't checking another male out, but rediscovering the universe.

What the hell?

"It's just coffee, two bucks for a cup. I bet they reheated the same pot for five times," he grunted, reprimanding his idle mind.

"Oh." And the kid pushed the coffee gingerly away. "I'm already warm." Luckily for him, he couldn't see the poisonous glare of the waitress who was wiping the table nearby. However, he could hear the shuffling of her skirts, and the little tangy sound of the apron rubbing against the margin of the table. He listened quietly at Tiedoll's advices to Kanda regarding school, rent, and love, and the other man's rather loud protests. Daisya was playing with TimCampy, letting out sharp barks from time to time. Really, it was quite lovely, if not for Timmy's snot on his palm.

So Allen listened while Kanda yelled at his father, and his father vigorously argued back. About chiaroscuro.

"He's probably too old, dude. If I was you, I'd invest in a younger pet, if you get what I'm saying," he caught Daisya's voice at one point, and sharply untangled his animal from the messy napkins on the table.

888

Kanda pulled his white muffler higher. Their 'neutral zone meeting' took about four hours of bickering and chocolate cake slices. It had ended with a punch into Daisya's crooked nose and the usual, "Stop touching dad's glasses, you fucking prick." This was his first meeting with his family in three years. The screech of a car interrupted his thoughts. Kanda automatically avoided the postal box when he heard a startled yelp. Turning, he saw Allen on his back in the snow.

"You trying to make angels or something?"

"Quiet, you jerk. I think I broke my cane."  
Kanda smirked.

"I think you dented the postal box. What a loss to the community."  
The boy sputtered and began to reach around, trying to find his cane. His mitten was blue and fluffy, and somehow it reminded Kanda of that night when Lou, his so called mother (he sneered) bundled him up, put him into the tacky plastic chair of some American airport and told him to wait for Mr. Froi Tiedoll. She had worn red mittens that day.

With an audible sigh and an impressive roll of his eyes, Kanda pulled the boy up.

"Your cane's useless here. Just—" and he rapidly put the boy's arm around his. "I'll tell you if there are steps or anything, so just stop being pathetic."

Allen nodded once, then reddened.

"I'm not pathetic," he hissed in that clipped voice of his. "Just sometimes, I-I—"

"Need help. I know."

The boy nodded. His hand was small, with a thin and delicate wrist, elongated palm and long fingers. The hand of an artist. Kanda briefly glanced at his own hands. The fingers were long, like Tiedoll's. But there were differences. His nails were short, blunt, bitten over and over again. And his palm was wide, wide enough to cover Allen's fist.

He felt like a caveman.

And so, he tucked his hand in the pocket, where he couldn't see it. It made Kanda feel better.

"Kanda."

"What."

The boy lifted his face and smiled nervously.

"Thanks. For, you know…asking your dad not to tell about me."

The man snorted and pulled the boy lightly to the side, to avoid an especially audacious beggar.

"Stop being so maudlin. That's Tiedoll's job."

He felt the boy tense and fall behind just a bit, so he slowed down. Allen pulled his head lower into his coat. And that was when Kanda noticed.

Allen was dressed too light for the weather. The coat was nice— some expensive brand— the price being inversely proportioned to thickness. And his shoes... No healthy male would wear something so expensive, white, and absolutely impractical. Kanda groaned.

"Are you cold?"

A hesitant shrug.

"I didn't bring a thicker coat. I had to leave fast." Hearing Kanda's sigh and murmurs about stupid people who come out underdressed, Allen lifted his hands defensively. "It's ok. In fifteen minutes we'll be at the house, right?"

Kanda promptly ignored his logic and pulled him to the side of a small local bookstore, trying to find a spot where the snow wasn't melting or making a mess. Upon stumbling on such a spot, he pulled Allen in front of him, unzipped his coat and began wrapping him into his white woolen muffler. The kid scrunched his nose up.

"What?"

"It itches."

Kanda snorted. In a very condescending way.

"Of course it does. It's woolen. It'll warm you up in no time."

Allen snuggled into it. He disappeared into the white nest up to his ears. Only his eyes peeked over the fluffy margin.

"It smells weirdly."

The man sighed softly. He'd washed the damn thing two weeks ago. He really should have done it last week too.

"It smells of me. I just wore it, you know," he said quietly, then zipped the thin coat up. They were ready to go again.

"It's a nice smell," the kid mumbled. "I like it."

The man's mouth curled up in a covert smile. They crossed the street, avoiding to get hit by a slow kid on a sleigh. After Kanda cuffed him hard over the ear and explained to him in vivid details why his parents were useless humanoids with no reproductive discretion, they finally entered the house, and dodging a random cat, shivered near their door. Kanda was searching for the key while Allen cooed at his pet.

With a shy and homey screech the door opened but Kanda was retained by a frantic tug on his hand. The man turned, eager to show his displeasure, but was stalled at the limp pet in Allen's hands. The boy whimpered.

"Kanda, TimCampy's dead."


End file.
